


heartlines on your hand

by spiralpegasus



Series: Sylvix Week 2019 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Memories, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiralpegasus/pseuds/spiralpegasus
Summary: Sylvain picks up a hitchhiker who seems strangely familiar.Or, Sylvain's family history isn't so easily outrun, but if it means that he can have Felix in his life, that's perhaps not a bad thing.Sylvix Week 2019 Day Three: Modern AU





	heartlines on your hand

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt mean for this to feel like the first chapter of a bigger work but i feel like thats what happened. i hope it stands alone okay.
> 
> it's pre-relationship but flirty
> 
> title is from heartlines by f+tm because.... because.

Sylvain likes to think he’s a pretty smart guy.

Not all the time, no. He makes pretty dumb decisions sometimes, and he definitely didn’t do as well in school as he could have. But for the most part, he keeps himself out of trouble – or at least, out of trouble he can’t handle. He’s not one for doing impulsive, idiotic things that could potentially get him killed.

Which is why he is appalled at himself as he finds himself pulling over for a hitchhiker on a highway on-ramp.

He doesn’t even have the excuse of the hitchhiker being a pretty girl, or a helpless-looking child. No, the man on the side of the road is fully-grown and frankly looks like he could snap Sylvain’s neck if he decided it was worth the two seconds it would take out of his day. His long black hair is tangled and greasy under an old wool stocking cap. His eyes, sharp and shadowed, glare out at Sylvain from a pale, sunken face. He’s bundled in lots of old, ratty layers to fight off the autumn chill, but it’s still obvious that he’s nothing but bone and muscle underneath it all.

Maybe it’s the fact that Sylvain is on a fourteen-hour road trip to attend the funeral of a brother who spent most of his childhood trying to kill him. That’s the kind of thing that puts a person in a strange mood. Whatever it is, he pulls over onto the shoulder, unlocks his car doors, and gestures at the man to get in.

“Thanks,” the man rasps as he hauls himself and a single old backpack into Sylvain’s passenger seat. He doesn’t smell great, but Sylvain supposes it’s a little hard to bathe when it’s this cold out and you don’t actually have a warm place to dry off.

“Where are you heading?” Sylvain asks him.

“Wherever you’re going,” he replies, pulling the door shut behind him and tugging on his seatbelt. He eyes Sylvain strangely. “You don’t seem worried about letting a stranger into your car.”

“Eh, if you’re a serial killer and I end up dead, at least I won’t have to go to this damn funeral,” Sylvain says cheerfully. “What’s your name?”

_Funeral,_ the man mouths with a furrowed brow, but he relaxes against the back of his seat as Sylvain pulls back onto the road. “Felix.”

“I’m Sylvain.” Sylvain tilts his head to shoot Felix a grin. “Maybe knowing my name will humanize me enough that you’ll feel too bad to kill me.”

“Don’t count on it,” Felix says. There’s a light shiver racking his shoulders, and Sylvain cranks the heat up just a bit. If he’s going to indulge in this ill-advised act of charity, he may as well go all-in and make sure the guy’s comfortable. 

“Well, I’ll be driving for awhile,” Sylvain chatters to fill the silence. He’s been talking to himself for most of this trip, and it’s a bit gratifying to have an actual human being to subject to his ramblings. “You can hop out of the car whenever you decide you’ve gone far enough, I guess.”

“Where are you going?” Felix asks. His arms are crossed on his stomach, and he looks like he’s melting into Sylvain’s shitty upholstered passenger seat, though he’s making a valiant effort to keep his eyes open. How long has it been since he’s had anywhere relatively safe to sleep?

Figuring Felix probably isn’t the kind of guy who appreciates pity, Sylvain keeps his thoughts to himself. “Conand,” he replies easily, despite the complicated twist of feelings in his chest. “Up north. My brother finally got himself killed, and I figure he deserves at least one person at his funeral, even if he was a piece of garbage.”

“Oh,” Felix whispers. “I…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Sylvain interrupts, more harshly than he means to. He glances at his side mirror as he switches lanes. “I didn’t love my brother. He was a terrible person, and I’m not going to miss him. It just…” He blows out a long breath of air through his nose. “It just sucks that not even our parents are going. He deserves better than that, at least.”

“Yeah,” Felix mutters. He falls silent.

The energy in the car has become a little too awkward for Sylvain’s liking. “Well, that’s all the oversharing I'll be doing today!” He turns up the radio. Whichever dancey pop song is most popular now trickles from the speakers. “Tell me about yourself, instead! How’d you end up on the side of a highway in the middle of nowhere?”

“I’d rather not,” Felix says dryly. “Just keep driving, and I’ll consider letting you live.”

Sylvain laughs. “This is shaping up to be a long drive with an attitude like that.”

“You were the one who pulled over.” Felix is sinking into his layers, tucking his face into the old plaid scarf wrapped around his neck. His eyes are closed, and he’s stopped shivering.

“You can nap if you want,” Sylvain offers. “If I’m gonna kill you, at least you’ll be asleep for it.”

“You’re not going to kill me.” Felix seems weirdly sure of that. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

“Sure, sure.” Sylvain’s heard that one before. Ingrid loves to eat herself into a food coma and insist she’s just _resting her eyes_ when she drapes herself over Sylvain’s couch to sleep for five hours. Still, the dark bags under Felix’s eyes and the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders prevent Sylvain from teasing him any further.

Sylvain’s always amazed by people who can sleep in cars. He himself has never been able to do it, perhaps in no small part because of the lingering fear that Miklan would open the door and shove him out onto the highway if he let his guard down. But Felix is curled up against the door, looking very small and very tired as he breathes slowly, shallowly, beneath the quiet murmur of the radio.

Two hours pass in relative silence. Felix only stirs when Sylvain stops at a drive-through and shoves a burger at him. What a bizarre man, to sleep so soundly in a stranger’s car. Sylvain eyes the setting sun as he passes a sign advertising a motel off the next exit; he was planning to drive much later into the night, but something about Felix’s quiet vulnerability and bone-deep exhaustion makes him want to give him a bed to sleep in, at least for one night.

He takes the exit. The motel isn’t an expensive one, but it’s not so sketchy that Sylvain thinks he’ll get shot if he accidentally leaves his door unlocked or something. When he pulls into a parking space, Felix blinks awake.

“Stopping for the night?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says, speaking quietly. The silence of the dead engine combined with Felix’s sleepy eyes make him feel like there’s something fragile in the air that he’ll break if his voice is too loud. “You okay with sharing a room? I’ll get us one with two beds.”

“You’re not making me sleep in the car,” Felix says disbelievingly.

“Hey, it’s like picking up a stray dog,” Sylvain says with a grin. “What’s the point if you aren’t gonna take care of it?”

“Ugh.” Felix picks up his backpack and follows Sylvain when he gets out of the car. Sylvain hauls his duffel bag out of the backseat.

“And you can take a shower!” Sylvain continues as they cross the parking lot. “You don’t exactly smell like roses, man. No offense.”

“Offense taken.” Still, Sylvain catches Felix giving himself a subtle sniff and tries not to laugh.

The room they’re given is a modest one with two double beds tucked into either corner. The TV looks like it’s seen much better days, but the bathroom at least is serviceable.

“Wanna take a shower?” Sylvain says, phrasing it like a suggestion but really meaning _please take a shower, you kind of stink._ “I’ll go after you.”

“I…” Felix is still holding his backpack and hovering by the bed Sylvain’s not sitting on, looking uncertain. “I don’t…” His entire face contorts in a scowl. “I don’t have anything clean to sleep in,” he forces out, like it pains him to say.

“Oh.” Sylvain’s eyes widen a little. “Well. We can stop by a Laundromat in the morning, if you want, but in the meantime…” He digs through his duffel bag. He thinks he brought an extra pair of sweatpants, and he makes a noise of triumph when he digs them out of the bottom, along with some clean boxers and an old T-shirt. “Here.”

Felix fumbles but manages to catch the bundle of clothes when Sylvain chucks them at him. “‘Women Want Me, Fish Fear Me?’” he reads off the shirt with disgust.

“Oh,” Sylvain laughs. “I have a friend that’s super into fishing. They got it for me as a joke.”

Still making a face, Felix clutches the clothes to his chest along with his backpack as he walks to the bathroom. It’s a nice enough motel that there are little sample sizes of shampoo and body wash and whatnot, so Sylvain lets him have at it, lying back on the off-white comforter as the shower starts running.

He pulls his phone out to text Ingrid and tell her he’s stopped for the night. He almost tells her about Felix, too, but stops when he realizes how furious she’d be that he picked up a complete stranger off the side of the road. _What if he kills you? What if he robs you? You never think, Sylvain!_ he can almost hear her shouting over the phone.

Well, there’s not a lot for Felix to steal, and even if he did, he needs it more than Sylvain does anyway. There’s just something about him. An old familiarity, maybe, like he reminds Sylvain of someone he knew a long time ago. It’s not like Sylvain to be so needlessly sentimental. He rolls over onto his stomach and watches the bathroom door as the knob turns and Felix steps out.

He’s—he’s _cute._

Too skinny, yes, and he still looks exhausted, but he’s adorable. Sylvain’s shirt slides down off one of his shoulders, and the sweatpants drag on the floor over his bare feet. He’s not that much shorter than Sylvain, but everything about him is small from what must be months of deprivation. 

“Looking good,” Sylvain manages to tease through his suddenly dry throat.

Felix glares. “Don’t mock me.” He stalks over to his own bed and sits gingerly on the side, patting the mattress like he hasn’t slept on anything soft in years. “The shower’s all yours.”

Sylvain spends his shower absentmindedly considering what it is about Felix he finds so compelling. He’s passed hitchhikers before, though not often, and none of them grabbed his heart and wrenched him over onto the side of the road to pick them up the way Felix did. He wants Felix to stay with him as long as he’s willing to. Wants to buy him a big breakfast and make sure he’s eating well. Wants to give him a safe place to sleep, tonight and every other night.

Surprisingly, Felix is still awake when Sylvain emerges from the bathroom, dressed for bed. He’s fiddling with something that he shoves into his backpack when he notices Sylvain.

“Secrets, secrets,” Sylvain says with a yawn.

“It’s not important.” Felix moves up the bed to sit cross-legged against the headboard, eyeing Sylvain as Sylvain crawls into his own bed.

“Soooo. Wanna tell me anything about yourself?” Sylvain asks. He flips the lamps off so the only light in the room is the fluorescent glow of the parking lot. “It’s like a sleepover. You tell me your secrets, I tell you mine.”

“What makes you think I’m interested in your secrets?” Felix’s silhouette shifts on the other side of the room.

“I’m devilishly good-looking, and I gave you a ride and a motel room,” Sylvain offers. “Not that I’m expecting anything in return,” he adds hastily when he realizes how that could be taken. “I’m the one who decided to do this stuff, anyway. But it would be nice to know a little more about you.”

Felix huffs. “There’s nothing to know.”

“Well, you look like you haven’t eaten properly in months, and you were on the side of a highway begging for a ride.” Sylvain drums his fingers on the comforter. “That’s something.”

“Something bad happened, and now I’m looking for someone,” Felix snaps. “There. Are you happy?”

Sylvain stares at Felix’s hunched form. He looks like he’s hugging his knees. “It must have been a pretty bad something,” he says softly.

“It was.” Felix’s shoulders tremble a little in the dim light. “There’s no one left. No one but him.”

_Him_ being the person Felix is looking for, Sylvain supposes. “And you think hitching rides with strangers will help you find him?” he asks, light and careful.

“More than staying in one place will.” Felix’s head moves like he’s glancing at Sylvain. His eyes gleam faintly in the darkness. “And you? You’re driving across the country alone to go to the funeral of someone you hate. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You make it sound so scandalous,” Sylvain says with a hollow laugh. “Miklan was… He hated me. Thought I took our parents’ love from him. Tried to kill me a few times when I was little.”

Felix watches him silently. Sylvain can’t make out his expression in the darkness.

“He ran away from home, got tangled up in some gang stuff. I left home as soon as I was old enough to, but I got a call a couple weeks ago that he’d gotten himself shot in a turf war.”

“Not from your parents, I’m assuming.”

“No. It was an old acquaintance of the family who identified the body and figured someone should know.” Their parents didn’t even bother to identify Miklan’s body. The sheer depth of the Gautier dysfunction is the reason Sylvain ran so far from home in the first place. “I shelled out for a small funeral. Figured someone should at least try to act like family to him for once, even if it’s after he died.”

“That’s… kind of you.” Felix’s voice is nearly unreadable, but there’s a small waver of emotion in it that Sylvain can’t identify. “My brother’s dead too,” he whispers.

“Oh, shit,” Sylvain says, sitting up. “I’m sorry to hear that. Assuming he was a better brother than Miklan was, anyway. If he wasn’t, then congratulations, I guess?” He’s rambling, shoving his foot in his mouth as always. “Anyway. Sorry.”

“It… was a few years ago now. I still have his old engagement ring.” Ah, the thing Felix had been fiddling with earlier – it had been small and silver. “Anyway. Whatever. Family’s complicated.”

“It is,” Sylvain agrees. He gets the feeling Felix is done talking about this, so he lies back down, settling his head on the pillow. “We should get some rest.”

“We should,” Felix says shortly. He curls up on his side, facing the wall. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Felix.”

* * *

Felix is already awake when Sylvain opens his eyes the next morning. He has not, contrary to what Sylvain’s inner Ingrid might think, killed Sylvain, or stolen any of his stuff. He’s still in the pajamas Sylvain lent him, sitting on his bed and staring silently at Sylvain. Something about his serious expression combined with the cartoon fish on his shirt makes the image more ridiculous than intimidating.

“Morning,” Sylvain croaks. He doesn’t question Felix’s scrutiny.

“Good morning,” Felix says, still watching Sylvain intently. “I… this will sound strange.”

“Whatever,” Sylvain says, waving a hand as he sits up. “Go for it.”

“I think I know you.”

Sylvain freezes.

“What makes you say that?” he asks carefully. The fact that the feeling was mutual – that strange familiarity, that eerie feeling that he’s not remembering everything he should – it’s more chilling than he thought it would be.

Felix makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. I just—I never trust people like this, but I’ve been… at ease around you.” His lips purse. “You just—you seem familiar, somehow.”

“I feel the same way,” Sylvain admits, hushed. “Like I’ve seen you before, or I know you somehow.”

“Who are you?” Felix asks him. “Not just your first name, Sylvain. Who are you?”

“Sylvain Gautier.” He doesn’t like to give his full name to people – the name Gautier has some unpleasant associations around here – but he doesn’t hesitate with Felix.

Felix goes rigid. “Felix Fraldarius,” he whispers.

Fraldarius. Sylvain’s eyes widen and his lips part. “You,” he starts, but there aren’t any words. He remembers the Fraldarius family. Remembers the Blaiddyds, remembers their death and downfall. Sylvain’s family had packed up and fled before the fires of the Blaiddyd mansion were even put out, but the Fraldarius family had stayed, throwing in its lot with the Blaiddyds even as accusations of corruption dragged both their family names through the mud.

He remembers a small boy with black hair, whose tears came easy and his smiles even easier. He remembers tucking that soft hair behind that boy’s ear and leaning in.

“You were my first kiss,” Sylvain bursts out.

_“That’s_ your first thought?” Felix snaps, his cheeks reddening.

“Hey, I was young!” Sylvain puts his hands up apologetically. “The politics of our family businesses went way over my head!”

“Well, it could afford to. Your family ran when the Blaiddyds were destroyed.” Felix’s words aren’t meant to be accusatory, probably, but they still sting. “We were there for every last bloody minute of it.”

The Blaiddyds had gotten tangled up in some ugly rumors, and regardless of truth, someone had taken it upon themselves to exact justice with their own hands – “justice” being the deaths of as many Blaiddyd family members and employees as possible. The Gautiers, unwilling to risk their own reputation, severed ties immediately. The Fraldarius family, however…

“Yeah, you guys went right down with them, huh,” Sylvain says quietly.

Felix scoffs. “My stupid old man would rather die than abandon his duties,” he says scathingly. “And that’s exactly what he ended up doing.”

_There’s no one left. No one but him._ Sylvain realizes with a chill that Felix is probably the only Fraldarius still alive. “So if not your family, who are you looking for?” he asks, hoping he’ll get an answer this time.

“I… I suppose I’m not so different from my father in some ways.” Felix stares down at his hands. “I’m looking for Dimitri.”

Sylvain remembers Dimitri, too, both as he was and as Sylvain’s parents saw him. Before Sylvain left, his parents had only terrible things to say about the Blaiddyd heir. _Rabid. Unhinged. Needs to be put down._ He doesn’t put a lot of stock into his parents’ opinions, but at the time he wondered what had become of the sweet blond boy he’d met once upon a memory.

“What are the odds,” Sylvain says faintly, leaning back on his hands. “The disgraced Gautier heir and the last remaining Fraldarius riding in car with no idea who the other is.”

“Guess the universe wasn’t going to let you be done with Dimitri so easily,” Felix says dryly. “So much for the Gautiers running away from that whole mess.”

“Guess so.” Sylvain eyes Felix, comparing the tired, malnourished man in front of him to the sweet, smiling child from his memories. Felix is so different now. So, so different, but if Felix lets him, Sylvain wants to get to know this new version of him.

“Well, if Miklan was a Gautier, his funeral is as good a place as any to start looking for Dimitri,” Felix says, reddening under Sylvain’s considering gaze. “I guess I’ll stick around awhile longer.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Sylvain says warmly, offering Felix a wink just to watch Felix get even more flustered. “You know, I’m a much better kisser now.”

“Ugh,” Felix says, covering his face with a hand. His lips are twitching upward under his palm, though, and Sylvain counts this as a success. “I’m not that dumb kid anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.” And Sylvain does. This Felix has suffered, starved, slept in the street. It doesn’t even seem like he has a home anymore. All that’s left in his world is a man that may or may not be dead.

But he has Sylvain now, too, and Sylvain’s not planning to let him go again.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading;; this isnt my favorite sylvix week fic i've done, but i gotta keep up with the prompts! i gotta! i hope you enjoyed anyway!


End file.
